


shooting stars & silver moons

by Kju (kuj)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuj/pseuds/Kju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where your most perfect person's name is scratched on you at thirteen, Lucy Quinn Fabray gets a pretty name in looping scrawl. Rachel Berry gets a beautiful name, in all the possible ways.</p>
<p>(or, the faberry soulmate au no one asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lucy, quinn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [got a piece of my mind (to tell you who's mine)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958220) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> mentions of self harm & manipulative parents.

**i.**

Little Lucy Fabray, with her dark, messy hair, full cheeks, and dainty freckles, sits in the quiet of her room, staring intently at her arm. 

She's pulled the sleeve of her favorite llama sweater up, and her hazel eyes have been boring holes into her arm for an hour now. She eyes the clock on her bedside: eleven fifty-eight. Not long now. She swallows.

Lucy is young, but she understands _weight_. She understands it in ways children her age haven't yet. She knows the weight of her father's responsibilities at work, and how it makes Dad quicker to anger some nights. She knows her mother's own weight: it's in the way Mom takes forever to get ready in the morning, the way Mom sometimes cries very quietly at night when she thinks no one else is awake. She knows the weight on Frannie's shoulders, who is seventeen and lovely and anxious to carve her own path, against their parents' expectations. She knows that weight translates differently for everyone, and she knows that the name that will appear on her arm will be her own little piece of heft to carry around.

A quiet beep marks the turn of the day, and Lucy's eyes widen as a swift, but sharp pain, not unlike being pierced by the needles at the doctor's office, blooms across her left wrist.

Lucy breathes in quiet reverence as six letters appear on her arm, in the most adorable, loopy writing she's ever seen.

_Rachel_ , her wrist says, and Lucy whispers the name to herself about twenty times, wrapped up in her blankets, until she falls asleep.

Just before her eyes flutter shut, Lucy thinks of the name- tries to picture a 'Rachel'. Did she get her name on Rachel's wrist yet? Did Rachel smile at Lucy's name on her skin? Is she holding the name close to her chest, just like Lucy does with hers?

She dreams of a girl, with a smile so blinding and brilliant it could only be magic, with eyes as pretty as the letters adorning her wrist.

-

Lucy has always known that children don't like things that they don't understand. She had always thought she could forgive that. 

If they jeered at her books, she could walk away. If they pulled at her red hair, she could forgive it. Her tattered sweater? Easily replaced. A broken tooth? It would grow back. But somehow, Lucy's little heart couldn't stand them pulling her sleeve up and pushing her into the dirt, calling her names, all for having a girl's name on her arm. She had enough, and instead of running away, had finally shoved back. She had come home with scratches on her arms, and nothing to show for her bravery but cuts and rolling tears.

Frannie is always there when Lucy comes home crying. Frannie also knows the name on her arm, knows it's different from the _Jordan_ on her own. Frannie has always understood, and has always been so brave. Lucy has always thought she wants to be just like Frannie- more than the blonde hair, Lucy wants to be brave and kind and all the things her own shining sister can be for her.

When she tells her sister what happens, Frannie tenses in that way she does whenever she gets very angry, but pats Lucy's back gently and tells her to be brave, and to wait for Frannie to kick their butts. Lucy laughs, and cries a little less as Frannie sings something softly, something Lucy recognizes as one of Mom's favourite songs. Frannie's voice is soft and lovely to listen to, even if it isn't quite like Mom's- but Lucy thinks no one can sing quite like her mom anyway.

Lucy calms down, until Mom herself peeks in and asks what's wrong. Before Frannie can stop her, Lucy tells her mother everything. Mom freezes, and her face turns almost as white as the pearls on her neck. Frannie shakes and Lucy can't tell if she's mad or afraid, but holds her sister's hand all the same. Mom leaves the room, and comes back with a bottle of makeup, and insists that Lucy learn to put it on her arm, insists that Lucy needs to learn to hide the 'unfortunate' name on her arm. 

Lucy, as every one who grows up learns, must adapt.

So Lucy gets a nose job. Lucy gets a dye job. Lucy runs the entire length of her suburb in the early hours, until she wants to heave her lungs out and her muscles call for relief.

Lucy is shoved into the bottom of a hope chest, hidden shamefully from prying eyes, and Quinn takes her place, all poise and pomp and a hidden heart on her arm.

Quinn has all the things Lucy did not: Frannie's blonde hair; a long and lean body; and a walk that commands the attention of people around her- but some things don't change. 

Quinn still loves to read, and still enjoys the scent of cinnamon. She still talks to Noah, the boy she met in middle school who plays the guitar, even if now, they only talk at night and in the park, where they can sing together without anyone seeing them. Quinn loves watching the stars just the same as Lucy. Quinn still keeps a sketchbook, now full of quickly sketched strangers' faces and cross sections of buildings instead of book characters. Quinn still likes to sing, still likes to dance, and enjoys Frannie's phone calls and photos from university. 

Just like Lucy, Quinn still isn't brave like Frannie, and Quinn still hasn't found Rachel.

She finds that the more concealer she piles on top of the name every day, Quinn finds it easier to believe that she doesn't want to find Rachel anymore.

-

Time passes.

Quinn becomes captain of the Cheerios, to her parents' adoration and Frannie's infinite amusement. 

She becomes friends with Santana and Brittany, who have each other's names on their arms, and Quinn pretends she doesn't know- pretends she didn't sneak a peek at Santana's arm in the showers after practice one afternoon; pretends she didn't follow Brittany to her locker where she knows she reapplies the bright yellow bandaid over Santana's haphazardly scrawled name- and is harder on the two of them than anyone else. Quinn pretends it isn't because she's jealous. 

She watches them link pinkies and kiss when they think no one's looking, watches them look at each other like the world could crumble around them and they'd still only see each other.

Quinn pretends she doesn't grind her teeth every time Frannie talks about Jordan- beautiful, black-haired Jordan, who plays for the basketball team at Frannie's university and has even prettier eyes than she does. Quinn acts like she's happy for Frannie and her _girlfriend_ , even if she digs her fingers into her palms at every mention of Jordan, and the name on her arm burns like it's sizzling with envy and resentment.

So, she swallows her father's vitriol, even if it feels like fire burning her from the inside out. Her eyes, once soft and lovely, are hard and guarded the day she turns sixteen. Frannie's phone calls come less and less, and Santana has already tried to stab her with a fork in the eye twice. But her parents are proud of her, and at school, no one suspects anything, so Quinn lets herself believe that this is what achievement feels like. She tries not to think about how it feels a lot like being empty, and how it feels like the piece of heft on her arm is weighing her down more than it should.

It is her sophomore year, and Quinn has almost completely believed her own lie. The name on her arm almost becomes something easily forgotten; almost easily buried under powder and her own quiet hatred of everything that made her herself.

(Almost.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are You There, Faberry Fandom? It's Me, Sad Trash
> 
> im a Garbage that wanted a soulmate au so i wrote one. i also very much like exploring quinn as a high school Garbage. lots of nice things hidden in there. and actually.. i've been faberry trash since 2009........ and i thought its past high time to give back to the fandom ... pls accept my blood offering...
> 
> if you liked it please let me know! i'll update this as soon as i figure out how to write the pure human exuberance that is teenage rachel berry


	2. you'll never know, dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of parental abandonment, bullying and pyromania.

Noah is eleven years old when he meets Rachel Berry for the first time.

Later in life, he'll tell everyone- as Puck, and not Noah, and this is important because those are two very different people- that they met at the temple, at fourteen, where he supposedly caught Rachel checking him out. Puck will tell everyone that he invited Rachel for tacos after, but that really, they ended up at his house where they kissed and she let him touch her chest over an ugly animal sweater.

This is not what happened.

What actually happened is this: Noah, eleven and all soft skin and curly hair, is sitting in the quiet corner of the library. Hidden away in the tall stacks of silent sentinels of paper, Noah finally allows himself to cry for the fact that he can't learn You Are My Sunshine on the keyboard to cheer up his Ma, because he can't borrow a book, because he doesn't have a library card- because his father, who promised to take him to get one, isn't living with them anymore.

Everything hits Noah so hard in that one moment that taking a breath feels like what eating sand probably does, and he holds his little hands to his knees and cries as quietly as he can. Noah has never been a boy known to cry, and he would like to keep it that way. So he heaves up his little lungs in the most quiet way he can, in the corner of the dusty Lima Public Library, on a Sunday afternoon.

He's so caught up in his crying that he doesn't notice a head of brown hair peek from the near-empty shelf just ahead of him, and doesn't notice the girl with the brown hair and bright yellow sundress to come closer. It's not until she pats his head softly and plops down next to him that Noah even realizes she's there.

She doesn't say a word, and Noah only looks up at her once before shoving his face back into the crook of his arms and pretending the girl isn't there. But she is, and her hand is softly patting Noah's back while he cries.

Eventually, Noah calms down. He doesn't know how long it takes, but the sun is lower than when he came in, and the girl's hand must be tired, because it's just resting on his back now.

He sniffles, but doesn't look up, just tries to calm himself down. The girl is still there, and Noah decides that this is what it must be to have a girl for a friend. In the same moment, he thinks it's a lot like having Ma around- but smaller, softer, and less sad.

When Noah is finally down to just quiet sniffles, he hears the soft strains of You Are My Sunshine from right next to him. He hiccups, and finally looks up at the girl beside him.

She stops then, and smiles, small at first, then a full blown grin. Her eyes are shiny, and her hair is long and smells like watermelon. 

"Hello," she says, "I'm Rachel. Do you feel better, or do you want me to keep singing?"

Noah, not knowing what else to say, nods. Rachel nods too, and picks up where she left off: _when skies are grey_.

Noah thinks it's about the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

-

Noah goes away when he's thirteen, and doesn't come back. Instead, Puck does- all knuckles and shaved head and having burned down everything that is his father inside him.

Puck knows fire. He collects fireworks, steals lighters, and sets lawn plants on his street ablaze. Puck thinks fire is cool, and knows that this is the only way his dad ever calls him anymore- when his Ma has to call Pa to yell at him about how much a troublemaker Puck has turned into, and how it's probably because of the divorce, and whose fault it is. He gets passed the phone, and even his Pa sounds so, _so_ tired, it's still him. Puck is happy with just this.

Until it stops working, his dad stops answering their calls, and Puck finally learns to just shut his eyes every time he passes Pa's stuff in the garage. Noah's soft, curly hair is gone, replaced with Puck's mohawk of tightly packed brown hair, and stealing lighters is replaced with owning them.

Rachel is still there, still brown-haired and bright-eyed and now, singing for others, and not Noah, not anymore. Not since Noah disappeared and Puck came back, all too happy to avoid Rachel at school.

They don't talk anymore, not even when Puck finally gets a name on his arm that he immediately starts wearing long sleeved shirts and thick, leather bracelets for; and even after junior high when all everyone can do is show off their names and gravitate to newfound friends. Not even after Puck finds a lumbering hulk of a kid, Finn, and manages to be the guy's closest friend in a matter of days.

Especially not after Timmy Salome shoves Rachel into a muddy puddle after school one day, and instead of helping her up, Puck joins in the cheering, even if it feels like lighter fluid setting his insides alight.

But still, Rachel looks at him sometimes, and whenever their eyes meet, she looks at him like she's the only one that smells the smoke from the smouldering ruins in him.

Puck knows fire, but Rachel, it seems, knows the smoke.

-

(Puck considers this: Rachel is a month older than him, and should have gotten her name before he did. Puck expected a naming party, like some kids would throw, showing off their name to their friends while their parents watched happily. From the Berry household: radio silence.)

-

Two things can be said for Puck: he will never root for the Chargers, no matter how often his buddy Finn tells him they're decent, and he's an unreliable storyteller.

If you were to ask him how he met Quinn Fabray, he would tell you something like this: they met in freshman year, just after Quinn got into the Cheerios. She walked just ahead of him on their way to their shared English class, and kept swishing that tiny skirt _just so_ in front of him. Then, depending on who he's talking to, Puck will say Quinn then pulled him into a janitor's closet and made out with him during all of English (not true), or that he slapped her ass and she turned with a giggle and winked at him (also not true). 

What actually happened is this: Puck, at fifteen, successfully lifted a guitar from a 'friend'. He also managed to make off with two cans of Bud, and headed straight for the playground at the park, which he knew would be completely abandoned at eleven at night.

He got ready to play, excited to just relax and strum his stress away. Even years later, his mother hadn't moved on. Instead of obsessing over his Pa, she was busying herself with frequent trips to the temple, cooking, and really terrible telenovelas. But at night, Puck could still hear the crying, so at night, Puck would leave and come back after Ma was sound asleep.

As he got ready to play, he heard a soft crunch from behind him. Puck tensed, tired but ready for a fight, if it came to him.

What came instead was a soft voice, and blonde hair swimming into his view, and eyes almost as sad and nearly as old as his Ma's.

"Mind if I sit with you?" the girl said. She looked so tired, and so sad, that Puck would have felt like a total douche even considering refusing her.

"Why not," Puck said, scooting over to allow her room on the platform that led up to the slide. "Bud's all mine though, so don't even think about it."

The girl just half-shrugged, and took a sip from the one that was already open. Puck made an offended noise, which was met with a lazy smile that never quite made it to the girl's gold-green eyes.

Puck let out a breath. Wow. Those eyes.

"Know any songs?" The girl said suddenly, breaking the quiet of the dry Lima evening. 

Puck looked away and started strumming, something easy, and something soft.

The girl lifted an eyebrow at the opening bars, but looked away too, trailing her eyes to the sky and letting them fill with the stars. Puck watched her again, enamoured, and thought about how eyes so pretty could look so sad.

She lifted a hand to wipe something from her eye- whatever it was, or why it was there, Puck knew not to ask, but the movement made her light grey jacket slide down her wrist, revealing something that made Puck gasp and falter in his strumming- just a bit.   

_Rachel_. 

He wondered if it was Rachel, _Rachel_ , his Rachel, who seemed to know a person just from looking at them and could set a person ablaze with just a song. Puck wondered if this girl had met Rachel yet, Rachel, who could probably light up those sad eyes and sing all the sadness out of her body.

Then, Puck had an idea.

In the quiet of the park, Puck started to sing. Just a little, quietly enough that it was just louder than the guitar. The girl looked at him again, and smiled, soft. She took a breath, and joined in.

The park was still, and it was late, but in the playground, there was the sound of a guitar, and two voices in harmony singing You Are My Sunshine into the Lima evening air.

-

They aren't friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. They sing together, sure, but they don't talk. At school, it's even worse, especially when they have to fall into their roles. Puck does much the same, but he finds he likes burning other people in a more direct way: he gets on the football team, and learns that being big and scary means no one ever asks things like: _how's your mother?_ or, _is your dad enjoying Florida?_

They don't really run in the same circles, save for the girl- Quinn, he learns, their fourth night at the park- sometimes calling for Puck or the other boys on the football team (Finn included, who really only goes because he has a big, stupid crush on Quinn) for odd jobs like a slushie or a dumpster dive. They don't talk, not about the park, not about the tears that sometimes run or Puck twisting the thick bracelet around his wrist, just enough to show the letter 'L' to Quinn, who always, _always_ pretends she doesn't see it.

At the park, Quinn isn't kind, but she isn't mean, or spiteful. She's quiet, thoughtful, and always looks so very sad. At the park at night, Puck could almost call Quinn his friend.

But Quinn is a different animal in the halls of McKinley. Puck finds the school has that effect on them all, but Quinn is the one who takes her sadness and singing at night and turns it into fire and brimstone in the morning.

She glares at everyone, is flanked by the terrifying Santana Lopez, and has been rumoured to be behind the reason that one kid Timmy Salome moved away with a broken collarbone.

Still, she doesn't glare at Puck much, and actually, gives him a slight nod every time they pass each other. They aren't friends, but Puck knows that's much better than being Quinn Fabray's enemy.

At night, it's back to songs and sometimes Bud, or something stronger if Quinn brings back a bottle from her place. All the fire from the day turns on Quinn then: she lights her insides on fire, and starts crying into Puck's shoulder, or sometimes, into the crook of her arm, where Puck knows Rachel's name rests. 

Puck has never known much about a lot of things, but Puck knows fire, and knows a smouldering mess when he sees it. He also knows not to touch it, but when Quinn sobs like her insides are coming undone, all Puck can do is wrap an arm around her shoulders, and sing for her, softly, until Quinn can breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again!! I'm sorry about how long this took. it took me forever to learn how to write puck but i rly like his character so i wanted to show a bit of him and quinn paralleling, kinda. and also! now i kinda have a plan about how to go about the rest of this. updates may be slow because college but hopefully you guys stick by me and this story!!
> 
> thanks for reading so far!


	3. contrast,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for taking so long! college is hell on wheels... especially when you're taking animation...  
> anyway! here's the next one. thanks for being so patient! the story is just building now, but it'll start picking up soon!
> 
> !! warnings for verbal abuse, mentions of bullying, and parental neglect and abuse.

Everyone thinks Judy Fabray was part of the cheer team. This is a lie, but an important part of Judy. Lying is something she becomes good at telling- herself, and anyone else who asks. Judy Fabray: mother of two perfect children, owner of an immaculate front lawn, an excellent liar. This is a skill she learns early on, but takes a lifetime to unlearn. Later, Judy will learn that lying is hereditary, just like dark hair, hazel eyes and freckled shoulders.

-

Judy knows this, too: that the day that Quinn- then her baby, her Lucy- cries about the rotten little cretins that make her eyes rim red over her soul-name, is the day she swears up and down she will not have this same hate fester in her house.

Some part of Judy knows that in Russell, the same ugly shouting lives, a constant in the _beat, beat, beat_ of his sometimes too-rough hands or sidelong glare. The same hateful beat, beat, beat that lived in her mother and her father; that finally beat, beat, beat down her own defenses. Judy learned long ago that sometimes you can't fight hate with love, sometimes, all you can do is do is put your head down and ride the tide out.

Judy teaches her Lucy-Quinn practical things: how to hide, how to be safe, how to protect herself. Judy is the first to start calling Lucy _Quinn_. She gives Quinn a pretty brown leather bracelet that will hide the pretty writing on her wrist. Judy helps Quinn talk Russell into allowing their little girl a nose job, and Judy very helpfully readies a bottle of water for Quinn's early morning runs. Judy hopes Quinn's soul-name will fade in time. 

It happens, Judy knows, because she hasn't had need for a bracelet since it happened to her own name in college. Sometimes, Judy still traces the spot where a beautifully calligraphed _Max_ once sat. For the most part, she's stopped thinking of what 'Max' could have looked like, sounded like, loved like.

If Judy drinks for nights and nights, chasing away the ghosts of her mother's derision and her own head telling her of history repeating with the burn of scotch, then that isn't anyone's business but her own. If she can't look her daughter in the eye some days because of what Judy has helped her become, then, well, that's her own problem, and not anyone else's. Judy Fabray will protect her own, at any cost- of this, she is sure.

-

Judy was, actually, well-built and fast; and played center for the girl's lacrosse team at her high school. This much is the truth. Until her mother declared her 'too muscular' and had to turn in her mouthguard for a cheer squad application.

She never made it in, because the girls on the squad tittered the same way her mother would at her lacrosse medals and sun-kissed shoulders. Seventeen year-old Judy was fine with this, she supposed, because she decided that she had already learned everything she needed to learn in lacrosse.

 _Protect your own_ , her coach used to shout at them as they would run up and down the field, practicing drills and bashing against each other, her mouth filling with a familiar copper taste. _Keep them covered_.

Protecting, like lying, is what Judy learns well in her years, and what she uses to keep those near and dear to her heart safe.

Judy thinks of her children, her precious girls, one away from home and drifting further every stilted phone call, and another trapped in her own thoughts, too far to be called back. 

Still, Judy straightens, puts on her pearls, and reapplies the veneer for another day. She has been a mother for almost two decades now, and a mother learns ways to keep her children close without looking too closely at the cracks splintering down their spines. This is what Judy does, half-inebriated, and half watching her youngest girl brood in different parts of the house, and mostly trying not to think about the reason why.

Quinn, to be fair, has been doing alright, school-wise. Her grades are still excellent, and is still top of the pyramid on the cheer squad.

But some days, Quinn comes home with stormy hazel eyes and a set to her jaw so completely _Russell's_ , that the noise in Judy's ears starts to sound like pleas and cries and the sobbing of a dark-haired little Lucy of long ago. The red of her uniform becomes something less polyester and more protection, and Judy sees through all of it, but refuses to look.

Here and now, Quinn is doing well. But Judy knows, a mother always knows- a mother always knows.

-

Quinn finally stops leaving at the dead of night to go gallivanting with the Puckerman boy, and as far as Judy knows, has made new, more suitable friends than a delinquent at school. Her sophomore year seems to be off to a stellar start so far: Quinn is still head cheerleader, a feather in her very unpredictable coach's cap; Quinn is still very studious; and Quinn has said nothing about soul-names for a very long time.

There's even a boy, a lumbering beanstalk of a boy, coming around and taking Quinn out. Judy thinks that will go well, thinks that maybe, Quinn's name will fade. Maybe it'll even be replaced- she's heard stories, and maybe her Quinnie will be the first in Lima to have a new name. Another thing to be immeasurably proud of.

This goes on for weeks, all while Russell flits in and out of Judy's existence. Quinn is tense around him, and she's thankful Russell is usually too busy or too drunk to notice. Frannie calls a grand total of three times in two months, two of which are for Quinn. Ever since she found her name-bound, Russell hasn't acknowledged Frannie, and Quinn seems to talk very little on the phone calls she used to wait for. Judy barely says anything at all, just the usual questions of proper eating, studying. Frannie says almost as little back. Still, this is what passes for happy in the Fabray household, and is made more tolerable by the alcohol Judy practically pours down her throat every night.

But then, Quinn starts coming home angrier than ever. Finn stops coming around, and Judy thinks that her baby girl may be sulking over a breakup. 

"Quinnie," she tries, one afternoon, soft strains of Etta Jones floating through the house. Music always helps to calm Quinn down, ever since Lucy discovered the radio in the car played more than three stations. "Honey? Have you been feeling alright?"

Quinn, standing in the kitchen and cutting up some fruit, stops for a second and seems to get lost for a moment. Judy waits. Lucy did this too.

After a beat, Quinn exhales and the thump, thump, thump of the knife against the chopping board continues. "I'm good, Mom."

"Well, forgive me for prying, but I believe bananas are to be peeled, not murdered on a chopping board."

Judy attempts a smile, and Quinn startles, finally realising what she's doing. Instead of laughing though (her Lucy would laugh, Judy thinks to herself; her Lucy would have laughed and made a silly joke about fruits), she frowns, first at the cutting board, then into a point just ahead. Her hazel eyes, Judy's, through and through, are hard and cold and worryingly empty. Judy tries to wait, but then seconds pass, and then minutes. "Quinnie?" Judy tries.

"I'm fine, Mom," Quinn says suddenly, with the sort of force that has her father's anger bleeding through and into it, and Judy stares at the facsimile of her daughter in the kitchen.

"Really," Quinn continues, softer, finally looking up. An apology, if Judy's ever seen one. "Cheer practice is just rough some days."

Judy nods, accepts this, and subtly removes the rest of the fruits from around Quinn lest they be subjected to the knife. 

Judy makes Quinn a fruit shake, settles in to watch whatever could be on at opposite ends of the couch, and promptly declares Quinn's mysterious moods solved.

-

Whatever belief that Judy held that Quinn was fine is shattered when she comes home, two days later, with a colorful bruise blooming on her jaw. Judy was minding her own business, shifting through channels, and the peace her afternoon had is gone with her baby girl, her _Quinnie_ , sauntering in with a bruise decorating her soft skin like it was just another pen mark absent-mindedly left on.

"Santana," is all Quinn offers, but all Judy can see is Russell turning purple and shouting about the Lopez girl and shouting at Quinn. "It's fine, Mom, really."

Judy hears nothing but shouting in her ears, nothing but the beat, beat, beat. She quietly gives Quinn an ice pack, asks her to wait in her room for dinner, and tries to calm the panic in her chest. Judy almost tells Quinn to put concealer on her bruise, but instead, she tries to smile and promises that they'll come up with something to tell her father. Quinn smiles, just a little, and heads up to her room without a word more. Judy, alone in the kitchen now, counts to ten. She tries it again, and finally fishes the wine out from the fridge. She takes a long swig from a dainty glass, counting to ten, letting it fill her up and hoping Russell will be kind.

-

All is moot when Russell comes home. 

He smells of something else, something floral, as usual, and Judy absently makes a note to burn another of his shirts tomorrow afternoon.

Russell comes home, sits at the table, and tries to smile at Judy, and Judy tries to smile back, tries to ask about his day. She can't hear him, all she can hear is shouting- and a constant beat, beat, beat.

Quinn comes down the stairs, and Judy sits at her own place.

Beat, beat, beat.

Russell looks up from the table, looks at Quinn.

Beat, beat, beat.

"What in God's green Earth happened to your face?"

"Nothing, Daddy. Just a slip up at cheer practice."

Quinn's seat scrapes as she pulls it out to sit, and Judy notices her baby's hands are shaking. Russell's hands shake from across the table, but Judy knows that shaking, knows how different it is from Quinn's.

Russell stares, and Quinn tries to smile. Quinn has his smile, his watered-down affection, and Judy takes a long sip of the wine at the table.

Beat, beat, beat.

"You think I don't know the shape of a fist on my little girl's face?"

"Daddy, please."

Russell's chair scrapes much louder than Quinn's, and both women flinch, but Quinn is looking right at her father where Judy is looking at the table.

"Let me see."

"Daddy, really, I'm fine. Please."

" _Lucy Quinn Fabray._ "

Judy closes her eyes then, breathing deep, wine clutched in her hand so tightly she thinks she can feel it splintering under her fingers. Deep breaths, shallow breaths. Judy opens her eyes, and drops her glass.

Russell is standing, Quinn is standing, and Russell has her baby girl's hand held tight, pulling her closer so he can inspect the bruise.

Judy stands too, both of them are looking at her now, and Quinn looks so scared in that moment that all that is _Quinn_ melts away and _Lucy_ is all Judy sees. But Judy moves too slowly, and somehow, Russell's rough hand is catching the pretty brown bracelet on Quinn's arm, and she is still too far away to stop it, but she sees it all. The bracelet is slipping, the _R_ is showing, and Quinn is frozen, and Judy is trapped in slow-motion.

(The day Lucy turned thirteen, Russell never asked about her name. He got her a bracelet too, a pretty one, gold and heavy on his little girl's arm. Soul names didn't matter to men like Russell, even in a world where they drove the lives of many and meant so much. He'd always thought they were a waste of time. He never asked what hers was either, and never asked why it wasn't there when he finally saw an empty space where a name should be. Anyone else would ask. Russell didn't. Judy has always been half-thankful for that.)

"What is this?" Russell whispers.

"Daddy-"

Judy finally moves, but it's too late. The bracelet is on the floor. Russell has his hand heavy on Quinn's arm, the pretty scrawl of _Rachel_ open for all to see. Judy has never really had the time to look at it properly, and now, it's striking black ink across her daughter's wrist is staring them all in the face.

Everything is frozen, nothing seems to move in the deathly stillness of the Fabray household. Quinn is staring at her father, tears already rolling down her face, while Russell's face is a brilliant shade of red but completely unreadable at the same time. Judy stays still, afraid to move, afraid to make a sound.

Then, Russell just lets go of Quinn's arm. Judy isn't sure who sighs first, who sighs louder, but there is a sigh of relief in the dining room and only the shift of fabric in Russell turning away from the dinner table and heading up the stairs. He disappears into their bedroom, and all Judy can do is to stare after him while Quinn finally collapses onto the floor in tears.

Judy, to her credit, is woken from her trance then, rushing over to her daughter's side in a flash. She gathers her daughter in her arms, only seventeen and already so heavy with all this _heft_ that no one else seemed to see but Quinn herself, and lets her cry into her shoulder. Quinn sobs there for a good eight minutes, and Judy tries to soothe her with occasional shushes and hums. It's almost like Lucy again, and Judy could cry herself, but this is Quinn now, Quinn who needs her mother, and not her thirteen year-old girl.

-

Judy sleeps fitfully that night, uncomfortable with the heat and the scent of the other person in her bed, but she decides that's better than not sleeping at all.

-

In the early hours, when the sun has barely risen and birds themselves are still asleep, Judy is woken by a car engine and soft, muffled thumping.

Blearily, she gets up, and briefly tastes the wine of before from her mouth. She sleepily wipes her bathrobe sleeve on her chin, and goes to her vanity to try and contain her sleep-mussed hair before going to inspect the noise. Briefly, Judy notes the dark hair growing at the roots of her scalp, and makes a mental note to get them re-dyed.

Satisfied, Judy plods to the hallway, and down the steps.

She only gets halfway when she's met with the sight of her husband and her daughter, facing each other, and a few bags that look full to bursting around Quinn's feet.

Immediately, Judy gets a sick feeling in the deepest reaches of her insides. She comes closer, but not too close, and clutches her bathrobe tighter.

"Russell? What is this?"

He doesn't answer, and his turned-away body makes it harder for Judy to tell what's on his face. Quinn, only in a Cheerios hoodie and black track pants, barely dressed to go anywhere, is crying, her nose red and cheeks just as. Judy isn't sure why she asked at all, when what she should be doing is kicking and screaming for him to leave her baby alone.

Instead, she waits, quietly, her knuckles turning white with how tightly she gripped her robe. Quinn wasn't looking up, at all. Russell wouldn't turn around. Silence settled over them like a familiar friend.

"This girl is leaving our home," Russell finally says, his tone tired but hard. Beat, beat, beat, Judy's mind whispers. "I will not have my child walking around with sin gracing her hands all her life."

"Daddy-"

"I will not have my child living in sin," He continues, forcefully. Quinn is crying louder, and Judy notes, for some reason, that even in tears, her daughter is _perfect_. Always has been, and always will be. But she keeps her mouth shut, because what she hears in her head is a beat, beat, beat. "If both you and Frances insist on this life, then I will have no children at all."

Quinn stops then, her sobs turning into quiet wheezes. No one moves, until Russell turns away in a perfect parallel of the previous night, shoving past Judy to return upstairs. She briefly notes tear stains on his cheeks, but decides she doesn't care, not when her girl is being thrown out. 

"Oh, Quinnie," she says, wrapping her arms tight around Quinn. Her body had changed, and Judy realises everything about her _Lucy_ had been changing so fast that she had always been powerless to stop it. Quinn isn't crying anymore, but still welcomes the embrace. They stay that way until Judy feels tears finally pricking her eyes, and she buries her face in Quinn's blonde hair, the scent washing over her. "My baby, I'm so sorry."

Quinn stays quiet, and Judy finally notices the keys in Quinn's hand. Russell, it seems, is letting her take her car at the very least. The little black Honda sits outside, humming quietly, and the smell of the engine running is making Judy sick.

"It'll be alright," Judy says, finally pulling away, and looking her daughter in the eyes. She brushes some stray hairs from Quinn's face, and holds her cheeks as gently as she can. "Your father will calm down, and he'll realize how extreme this is."

"You think so?"

Quinn sounds so small that Judy can barely take it. She tries to smile, at least, for Quinn, her smiles are almost always genuine. 

"I hope so, sweetheart."

-

Quinn drives away, bags packed, at seven forty-two in the morning. 

It has only been fifteen minutes, and Judy knows it's less than appropriate, but her worry is greater than her sense of propriety at the moment. So she picks up the phone, and calls Mrs. Sorrell from bridge club. It's an early hour, but Mrs. Sorrell sounds awake already, so Judy stutters through less apologies than she thought she would need to. 

She tries her best to explain Quinn's situation, as detailed as possible without actually telling her why Quinn couldn't stay at their house for a little while, and tries, as humbly as she can, to ask Mrs. Sorrell to take Quinn in for at least a couple of days. Judy reasons all her family are out in Dayton, and that she wouldn't do for Quinn to miss school over anything.

Mrs. Sorrell agrees, amiably enough, and Judy tries not to think about how easily she had agreed, how a situation like this had almost seemed expected. Everyone knows about Frannie, about Jordan, but she hadn't thought they would titter and gossip about her youngest in the same way, too.

For now, Judy just tries to be grateful, and ends the call with profuse thanks, and a promise from Mrs. Sorrell that she'd call Judy back once Quinn had come to her house. Judy goes to the kitchen and fixes breakfast for herself, barely holding out on the urge to put crushed glass in Russell's mug. She drinks coffee, for the first time in years, and thinks about calling Frannie. The phone is still on the counter, glinting pearl in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Judy, for some reason, also thinks about calling the Berry household. The Lopez family, at least .But she squashes the notion down with another swig of her coffee, and tries to go about her day as if nothing had changed. 

She avoids Russell, both of them ignoring each other, but Judy holding her breath until after he leaves for work. She busies herself with as much as she can, and tries not to sob at the photos of her babies, her perfect babies that she failed to protect, that she passes in the hallways and every corner of her home.

Judy is in the middle of storing all the photos of Quinn and Frannie framed in places of the house, hiding them from Russell, when the phone rings from its' spot in the kitchen. Judy all but runs to it, and breathlessly picks up the phone.

"Judy," Mrs. Sorrell says, sounding all too upset. Beat, beat, beat, Judy hears, and swallows. "That number you gave me for Quinn, I texted it. And, well.."

"Yes?"

"She wrote back, just a bit ago." There's a beat of silence, and Judy hears a phone being fiddled with. "She said, when I asked her to come here at your request, she said, _'thank you, but I'm with a friend.'_ Didn't say who, either."

Judy stills, not knowing what else to do. She thanks Mrs. Sorrell, apologizes for the trouble, and again, thinks of calling the Lopez home. Just to check, just to make sure. But there are half-stowed photos of Quinn and Frannie in the living room, empty bedrooms upstairs, a husband that smells of perfume that isn't hers- so Judy slides down against the floor and finally, finally cries.

**Author's Note:**

> Are You There, Faberry Fandom? It's Me, Sad Trash
> 
> im a Garbage that wanted a soulmate au so i wrote one. i also very much like exploring quinn as a high school Garbage. lots of nice things hidden in there. and actually.. i've been faberry trash since 2009........ and i thought its past high time to give back to the fandom ... pls accept my blood offering...
> 
> inspired by abatnoir's beautiful supercat soulmate au!! if you like supergirl and like soulmate aus please read that too!!


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